


Follow the Rabbit

by MagicaDraconia16



Series: 2020 Bingos [14]
Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Coma, Constructed Reality, Elements of The Matrix, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Time Loop, Tony Stark Bingo 2020, Trope Bingo Round 14, TropesAndFandoms20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:36:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24796285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: If you’re reading this, you’ve been in a coma for almost 20 years. Please wake up.
Series: 2020 Bingos [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634290
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Tony Stark Bingo 2020, Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen, Tropes & Fandoms 2020





	Follow the Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> During a TSB discord party, the prompt "Constructed Reality/The Framework" got put up for adoption, and as soon as I saw it, the words "THE MATRIX" slammed into my brain like a kangaroo. As it happened, I'd also seen [this prompt](https://scontent-lht6-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/86193360_10206583358500646_9090404320431570944_n.jpg?_nc_cat=100&_nc_sid=ca434c&_nc_ohc=srGbsc7RLTMAX9dG4Zp&_nc_ht=scontent-lht6-1.xx&oh=d2a3d66a55d3b434e4950dc4db9924e8&oe=5F0353E3) again on Facebook, and I'd briefly come across mention that a comic version of Tony Stark ended up deleting his brain. So I had a solid plan for it. 
> 
> Unfortunately, due to having to finish stuff I was already writing, then finding and waiting for the relevant combined graphic novels of Invincible Iron Man (Worlds Most Wanted 1 and 2, and Stark: Disassembled) to arrive, and then just a general lack of motivation to write, I wasn't able to do the full, fleshed-out Matrix fusion I'd planned. So have a couple of elements from it, instead. 
> 
> Written for **Tony Stark Bingo:** _adopted square - Constructed Reality_ , **Trope Bingo Round 14:** _B2 - AU Band_ , and **Bad Things Happen Bingo:** _B5_ and **TropesAndFandoms20:** both of which are _Memory Loss_. 
> 
> Title: Follow the Rabbit  
> Collaborator Name: MagicaDraconia16  
> Card Number: 3035  
> Square Filled (Letter/number AND prompt): Adopted – Constructed Reality  
> Ship/Main Pairing: None  
> Rating: Gen  
> Major Tags: a minor swearword, referenced coma, time reset, elements of the Matrix, implied/referenced alcoholism

_Tony… Please wake up…_

“Huh? Whazzat?”

“Um, mail call?” The tall, slender young man standing in front of him held out a pile of mail. “I’m so sorry, Mr Stark; I didn’t mean to wake you up!”

“No, no, I’m up, I was up.” Squinting blearily around his trailer, Tony levered himself upright from the slouch he’d slumped into. “Er, just put the mail there,” he said, indicating the small table beside him. “I don’t like being handed things. Didn’t Pepper tell you that?” It was a rhetorical question; Pepper Potts was the world’s most efficient manager. She never forgot _anything_.

Rather like an elephant, in fact. Although, she certainly didn’t _look_ like an elephant – and God forbid she ever heard anyone compare her to one in any way.

The man – the intern? Tony never kept track of stuff like that. That’s what he had Pepper for – winced as he placed the stack of mail onto the table. “I’m so sorry, Mr Stark,” he said, again. “Ms Potts did tell me that. I’ll try to remember for next time.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Tony murmured, the man already forgotten as he reached for the top-most envelope. A card. He raised his eyebrows at it as he pulled it free. Most fans of the Avengers sent letters. Or chocolates. Or photos. Or underwear. Pepper had started screening all the mail after one too many sets of those. Tony couldn’t remember the last time anyone had sent them an actual _card_.

He was even more puzzled when the card turned out to be just plain old card. No fancy lettering, no picture, not even a bit of text to tell you what type of card it was supposed to be. It just seemed to be a piece of _actual_ card folded in half. Wondering if he was about to be doused in something really bad, Tony gingerly opened it but all it held were four handwritten words. 

**Please wake up, Tony.**

“What?” Tony turned the card over, looking for any signs of any other text that might explain… this. “What the hell is this?”

“You’re in a coma,” said someone from the doorway.

Tony’s gaze shot that way, but for a moment, all he could see was a silhouette; the person in his trailer doorway surrounded by a shining halo that overwhelmed his vision until the edges of it went a soft, cloudy grey. “ _What?!_ ” he blurted, unable to contain the incredulity this time. “ _What_ did you just say?”

The silhouette took a step into the trailer and resolved itself into the shape of Pepper Potts herself. She frowned at Tony. “I said, you’re needed on stage,” she said. “The sound check’s about to start.”

“Oh.” Tony rested a hand over his heart, which seemed to be beating abnormally fast. “I thought you said—” He trailed off and shook his head. Of course Pepper hadn’t told him he was in a coma. That just wasn’t the kind of thing she said. “Never mind.”

He levered himself to his feet and took a step towards Pepper…

…only to stumble as his foot came down on the last step up to the stage instead.

“Whoa!” one of the stagehands laughed, catching him by the arm and saving him from faceplanting onto the stage. “Did you start tonight’s celebration early, or is this still last night’s?”

“I—” Tony blinked at the stagehand, and then blinked some more at the stage. “I’m not—” He brought one hand to his head, pressing three fingers against his temple. He didn’t _feel_ drunk, although he’d spent so much of his twenties at the bottom of a bottle that it was debateable whether he’d be able to tell just how drunk he was until he collapsed.

One of the band members on stage – Don Blake; although, for a wild second, Tony wanted to call him _Thor_ – waved a hand at him. “Come,” he bellowed. “It’s been twenty years!”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. It felt almost like he’d stumbled over the step again. “What?” he mouthed at Don.

Don frowned at him. “I said we’ve been waiting,” he repeated.

“C’mon, Stark,” the drummer urged, twirling one of his drumsticks like a baton. He pointed the other at a guitar sitting near the front of the stage. “Your guitar’s been tuned already.”

In what appeared to be a literal blink, Tony was abruptly standing beside the guitar. He glanced around himself, confused, but it wasn’t until he picked the guitar up that he realised there was another problem.

“I don’t know how to play the guitar,” he said, staring blankly at the instrument. “Mom taught me piano.”

“Oh, for f—” he heard someone say, and then everything around him abruptly fizzled out into black and white static.

* * *

_Tony… Please wake up…_

“Huh? Whazzat?”

“Um, mail call?” The tall, slender young man standing in front of him held out a pile of mail. “I’m so sorry, Mr Stark; I didn’t mean to wake you up!”

Tony blinked up at the man – intern? He didn’t know; that was what he had Pepp— _Wait a sec, I’ve had that thought before_ , he thought, frowning. The young man still holding the mail gulped in alarm.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Stark,” he said. “Ms Potts did tell me you don’t like to be handed things. I’ll try to remember for next time.”

_Next time? Isn’t_ this _next time?_ Tony wondered. He gestured for the intern to put the mail on the table beside him. The man did so, then scurried from the trailer. Still frowning in confusion, Tony reached for the letter on top of the stack.

He had yet another moment on confusion (or perhaps it was the same one? He couldn’t tell) when he pulled out a piece of card, folded in half. He’d… Had he _dreamt_ this? Was he dreaming now? He was sure he’d seen this card before. He’d opened it, and it had told him to wake up. Which was nonsense, because he was _already_ awake.

Wasn’t he?

He opened the card and stared at the message inside.

**We’re trying a new technique.**

Tony couldn’t decide whether he should be relieved or not. On the one hand, the message was different, so this was _obviously_ not a time loop that he’d somehow got stuck in. On the other, the message was different; did that mean that _this_ one was the dream, or was the previous one some kind of psychic vision? Or was he just suffering from _really_ intense déjà vu?

He glanced up just as a silhouette appeared in the trailer doorway. It took a step inside and slowly resolved into Pepper Potts, the light slowly falling away from her so that her colours dripped back in. “You’re needed on stage,” she said, right on time. “The sound check’s about to start.”

“Right.” Tony gave a brisk nod, got to his feet, shifted his weight to step forward…

…and stumbled over the top step onto the stage again.

“Whoa!” one of the stagehands laughed, catching him by the arm and saving him from faceplanting onto the stage. “Did you start tonight’s celebration early, or is this still last night’s?”

Tony didn’t even bother trying to argue; he just steadied himself and pushed past the guy. But when he looked towards where the guitar had been previously, it was already being held by someone. Someone with short dark hair and an exasperated look on her face.

_Maria Hill. What is she…?_

“Come on,” someone urged from beside Tony. “Your auto-cue is all set and ready to go.”

Realising that these people thought he was the _lead singer_ , Tony turned his head to argue with who he _thought_ was Don Blake—

Only to find himself facing a different strapping blond.

“Steve,” he said, blankly. “But you… You’re dead.”

Steve Rogers blinked at him and reached up to pat a hand against his chest, over his heart. “Not last time I checked,” he said cheerfully, if a tad bit confused. “Now come on; we need to start the sound check.”

Bemused, Tony could only go with it as Steve gave him a shove in the direction of the front of the stage. Of course, Steve being here – and alive – wasn’t the only thing wrong with this… whatever it was. Hovering in mid air just off the front of the stage was a large auto-cue screen.

Even putting aside the fact that no concert he’d ever been to had had a screen right in the prime viewing spot, there was no way that Tony would be able to sing those words, and he had to wonder what everyone else was seeing, because he was _damn_ sure that it wasn’t what _he_ saw.

**We don’t know where this message will show up for you, but we hope we’re getting through.**

“I can’t sing that,” he informed the people behind him. “There’s no song to be sung.”

“Oh, for f—” he heard someone say, and then everything abruptly sparkled out into black and white static.

* * *

_Tony… Please wake up…_

“Huh? Whazzat?”

“Um, mail call?” The tall, slender young man standing in front of him held out a pile of mail. “I’m so sorry, Mr Stark; I didn’t mean to wake you up!”

Tony barely held in a sigh as he forced open one eye to squint at the possible intern. “Just… put it there,” he sighed, gesturing at the table beside him.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Stark,” the young man said as he hastily put the mail down. “Ms Potts did tell me you don’t like to be handed things. I’ll try to remember for next time.”

Tony didn’t even bother to watch him go, as he levered himself upright and reached for the first envelope on top of the stack. _What would the card say_ this _time?_ he wondered.

**We miss you. They’re getting ready to turn off the machine.**

_Whoa, wait a minute!_ Tony thought in alarm. _What machine? Is it one that’s keeping me alive – for a given value of ‘alive’? They can’t do that; I’m still here!_

A movement at the trailer door caught his attention, and he looked over as the silhouette appeared. Perhaps it was the sudden worry caused by this latest message, but for a moment the light surrounding it seemed to get impossibly brighter, before, as usual, the silhouette resolved itself into Pepper stepping into the trailer.

She was frowning slightly, Tony realised. Had she been doing that before? He couldn’t remember.

“You have to answer the phone,” Pepper said.

“Phone? What phone?” Tony frowned at her for a moment before realisation struck. “ _Phone!_ ” he yelped, and looked around frantically. There was no sign of any phone – not even a cell phone – in his trailer. “Where is it?” he yelled up at the ceiling in frustration.

Pepper was _really_ frowning at him now. “What? What are you on about?” she demanded. “I said, you have to be on stage. They’re waiting for you to do the sound check. Nothing about any phone.”

Uh-huh. Tony knew the next steps in this little dance now. He’d go to take a step forward and find himself magically on the stage. Except now he was being told by outside forces to answer the phone, and if there wasn’t one in his trailer then there certainly wouldn’t be one _on the stage_. But how was he supposed to go and find it when he appeared to be boomeranging between this trailer and the stage with nary a glimpse of anywhere in between?

He didn’t get the chance to figure that out, as between one blink and the next, without even moving, he found himself stumbling up the stairs to the stage. This time was even more disorientating.

“Whoa!” one of the stagehands laughed, catching him by the arm and saving him from faceplanting onto the stage. “Did you start tonight’s celebration early, or is this still last night’s?”

Tony didn’t dignify that with an answer; he just brushed aside the man’s hands and staggered out onto the stage, hoping that the stupid phone would turn out to be here somewhere after all.

“This’d be a lot easier if it was, oh, I don’t know… _RINGING!_ ” he shouted up at the ceiling.

“Stark? Are you alright?” a beefy blond asked. Tony didn’t bother turning to identify which one it was.

“I think he had a bit too much fun last night,” said the drummer, idly twirling one drumstick in one hand and tapping the other on one of the drums.

“Over here, Stark,” a female voice drawled.

Tony turned towards where the guitar had been previously. It had now been replaced by a piano, and there was a female sitting on the stool in front of it, but not the one he’d been expecting.

“Nat,” he said, blankly.

The Black Widow smiled at him and patted the stool beside her. “Come and sit with me,” she said.

“I can’t.” Tony shook his head. “I have to find the phone,” he told her, desperately. “I have to find it so I can answer it and get out of here.”

“And so you shall,” she said soothingly. “Look, here it is.” She rested a hand on top of an old rotary dial phone sitting on top of the piano. Tony swore it hadn’t been there a split second ago.

The drummer gave a loud groan of annoyance. “C’mon, Stark, stop playing around,” he complained.

Tony tried to shoot a glare at him, but found he couldn’t take his eyes off the phone. “I have to answer it,” he said.

“You’d better answer it, then,” said someone else from behind him.

Almost simultaneously, the phone began to ring with a loud, obnoxious trill. The sound of it went straight through Tony’s brain like a pickaxe, and he gritted his teeth against the sensation.

Trying to move towards the phone felt like the air was slowly solidifying around him, but he persevered, step by step. He _had_ to reach that phone! _He had to get out of here!_

With a last gasp and a lunge, worried that he was going to _just_ miss it, he finally managed to pick up the phone’s handset. “Hello?” he gasped into it, only to be met with a staticky dial tone. “Hello? Hello!” he repeated, frantically. “Is anyone there? Hello…? Please, you’ve got to get me out. Hello!”

_“Oh my God, he’s waking up! Tony…?”_

A bright light enveloped him, and compressed him down to atoms.

* * *

Tony slowly blinked his eyes open to the sound of a heart monitor beeping steadily beside his ear. He was surrounded by a whole bunch of people, some of whom he was expecting, like Pepper, Maria Hill, Bucky Barnes and Don Blake in his Thor persona. There were also some he _wasn’t_ expecting, such as the Black Widow herself and someone that he vaguely thought might be Doctor Strange – he’d only briefly met the man once before, so sue him if he wasn’t completely convinced looking at the man from this angle. And then there was—

Steve Rogers.

Who was supposed to be dead.

He looked pretty good for a dead man, though, even if he was a bit battered and bloodied. In fact, so was everyone else around the bed.

“So,” he said, glancing from one to another. “What happened to _you_ guys? No, wait, let me tell you about the dream I just had…”


End file.
